Cheating Fate
by Ione
Summary: Jane can't understand why her human weaknesses bother Loki so. She's accepted the fact of her eventual death, but he still needs time. Lokane, established relationship. ONESHOT.


Cheating Fate

A gift fic for gabbiki

Truth be told, she was actually glad it'd happened.

There was something soothing about sitting wrapped in her grandmother's afghans and for once to have nothing else to do but stare over the lapis lake that encircled Tromso and the silver snow-veiled mountains beyond. A mug of steaming tea sat at her side, giving its warmth to the chilly afternoon air of May, and Jane sipped from it when the tightening cough in her throat threatened to choke her.

If Erik were there, he'd tell her to come inside before she got sick again. If Loki were there…

Well. Loki had only seen her sick once, and it was enough to make Jane glad that he _wasn't_ there. She smiled at the memory of Loki—the great and fearsome God of Mischief, one-time aspiring conqueror of Midgard—bustling around her like a mother fretting for her firstborn.

He had not appreciated the comparison. Although, to be fair, he had certainly known how to help. After he'd brewed that delicious spiced apple tea for her, she'd gotten better almost instantly. It was really miraculous; she had to ask him for the recipe.

The sun was high and bright; Jane sat, drinking her tea and smiling over the future, wrapped warm as a fresh burrito in her blankets. Her eyes were drooping to sleep when a sudden dark shadow blotted light out and threw her into almost icy shade.

She cracked one eye open and smiled. Always with the dramatic entrances. "Welcome back."

Loki bent to kiss her; long and lingering, just the way that made her toes curl. Jane felt her whole body warm to him—with a heat brighter than the sun could ever provide—and used both hands to hold him against her. When her mug fell from her lap and clinked soundly against the deck, he smiled against her mouth.

"Whoops," she gave a hacking laugh that turned into a coughing fit as she reached for it. Loki was faster than she—he always was—and he scooped it up.

"Are you well, Jane?"

"Ugh," she sighed and shuffled wearily to her feet, "I'm getting better. Just the flu. It happens when the average daily temperature is only 40 degrees."

At the stricken expression on his face, she shook her head and nuzzled under his chin. Immortal baby, he was always so afraid for her. "It wasn't anything serious. I went to the doctor right away. Modern medicine might not be magical apple tea, but it does the job."

"Magical…" he trailed off. "You are a fool, Jane Foster," he said, snatching her up, mug, blankets, and all. She leaned against his chest and listened to his heartbeat as he carried her inside, lulled by the constant, smooth rhythm. "Surely you know sitting in the cold will only bring on a relapse of your illness than a cure?"

"Oh, always worrying," she teased, clamping down on her cough. There was an element of fear in his voice that she didn't want to irritate. "I have other things to think about. For example, what kind of information did you get from the elves about harnessing the harmonic variations of the aurora?"

"I'll give you no satisfaction, thoughtless creature," he tossed her to the sofa and tucked another two blankets over her, "until you have recovered."

"You tyrant," she swatted at him and he danced out of her reach, "I'll just ask Thor at the lab."

"As if that oaf could satisfy your insatiable curiosity."

Jane huffed, pulling the blankets around her like a turtle's shell. "Well then, I don't suppose you have anymore of that tea? It really did work wonders."

"It was supposed to," he replied, the momentary cheerfulness gone again from his eyes. He knelt beside the sofa and took her hand in a grip that verged on painful. "How did you get sick?"

"Like I said, it's cold here. We lived in a balmy paradise for the last few years; it's just adjusting to the climate. You're just gonna have to get used to it, Loki…humans get sick."

His eyes flashed with scorn and his mouth set in firm lines. "I never should have brought you back to this forsaken Realm," he grumbled.

Her thumb stroked soothing circles on his hand, but she knew better than to speak. He had struggled with her mortality before, and would again. She was thirty-seven, and not getting any younger.

When he finally spoke again, it was only to say, "You shall have more tea."

She smiled, though he wouldn't see it. "Thanks."


End file.
